Nothing
by Blissful Lissy
Summary: Mello asks himself if having Matt in his life once again has changed anything, or made him feel fulfilled in any way. The answer, cold and blunt, is no. There's nothing. Matt/Mello. M for sexual content, violence.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: It's been a long while since I've written. I miss it, and have requests that I need to fulfill. Maybe posting something will get me back into the swing of things._

_I've become very fond of the Matt and Mello pairing, and have wanted to write a fanfic about these two for a while now. I don't know if this is going anywhere, or if it will remain a one-shot. Either way, I hope you enjoy!_

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He's far too used to this by now. He knows all too well the feeling of walking into an empty apartment, never to feel truly at home, only hoping to catch a few restless hours' sleep before stumbling back out to work tirelessly toward his goal of catching Kira, the nameless and faceless man who single-handedly brought down the symbol he had aspired to be and to surpass: L.

Mello isn't alone anymore. Not since the lanky redheaded boy from Wammy's House showed up with promises of helping his childhood friend. The blond knows Matt has skills. He can hack and spy and investigate with the best of them. Mello tells himself that if Matt were useless, he would have turned him away, but he knows, in the back of his brilliant mind, that it's far from the truth. There's a kind of desperate hope that Matt's presence will ease the constant pain of isolation.

But there is a fine line between alone and lonely, and, unfortunately for Mello, Matt seems neither able nor willing to ease his loneliness. All he does is take up space. Despite the fact that the crummy apartment now looks lived in, and almost loved in how messy it is, there's not one iota of warmth or belonging when Mello steps through the threshold after a day of tailing Japanese policemen and making cryptic plans and agreements with Near. And as he treads carefully around the tangles of wires running from the television and countless video game consoles to the beaten-up, hard-cushioned excuse for a couch and back, he asks himself if having Matt in his life once again has changed anything, or made him feel fulfilled in any way. The answer, cold and blunt, is no. There's nothing.

With many grumblings and grunted words unfit to spill from the mouth of the devout Catholic, Mello treads on crumpled chocolate bar wrappers on his way to the bedroom, and slouches his slender body, sleek in skintight leather, against the doorframe. His eyes narrow into slits of icy blue as he looks down upon his ginger roommate, sleeping and sprawled across the makeshift bed, which is merely a mattress cramped into the corner of the only bedroom. Matt is still fully clothed, open-mouthed and drooling, a handheld clutched loosely in his gloved fingers. Not for the first time, Mello wonders how those fine, copper strands of hair would feel underneath his palm, and what reaction it would procure if he were to press his lips against flushed and freckled cheeks.

The temptation makes his heart ache and his fingers twitch with want. But Matt isn't gay, and Mello knows this from the way the ginger will toss back a few shots of the most potent alcohol before wandering blindly from the apartment, only to return a few hours later with a girl he picked up from God knows where. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, Matt never gets far, and Mello makes certain of this, though it's still a hassle to kill whatever drunken slut he brings home. No matter what, they must remain hidden, and he'll be damned if he lets Matt fuck up how careful he's been up until now. Sometimes, he'll wait to see if he can shock the redhead, pressing the barrel of his prized Beretta to the girl's temple just before Matt can tug her pants below her hips. In these instances, Matt rewards Mello's efforts with that easy, charming grin of his, inviting the blond to pull the trigger as the girl sobs uncontrollably into her hands, salty tears squeezing through the gaps of her fingers and trickling down her frail wrists. And once her blood and brains paint a grotesque picture on the wall, and Mello sneers and spits curses at Matt as he calls one of his past mafia associates to come rid them of the body, Matt winks and stretches his arms above his head as he yawns, "She was nothing, Mels."

It must be a trick of the light, or of his own mind, when he catches Matt glancing sideways at him just a bit too long, or casual, friendly touches become warm enough to be considered intimate. Because Matt isn't gay, even though he purposefully drags out the visits of his female companions, watching Mello carefully the entire time, as if inviting him to act brashly and commit the inevitable murder. When the buttons on the girl's blouses are unbuttoned by the redhead, it is with much fumbling of fingers, almost reluctant in their slowness, and his green eyes, muddied olive by the orange of his goggle lenses, focus on the eyes of his blond best friend, which turn familiarly frosty and cutting in the clutches of jealousy.

And right now, it's all Mello can do to stride over to the mattress and crouch down as he strips slowly out of his leather clothing and not touch the face of his only friend, and bestow upon him generous and selfless touches and kisses until they cross the boundaries from friendship to lovers, and maybe even more. Biting his tongue, he tosses his last article of clothing, a heavy boot, into some darkened corner of the bedroom, having no qualms about being noisy; Matt is about to be rudely awoken anyway.

"Matt. Wake up, you lazy fuck. You're taking up space," the blond hisses, smacking the snoozing redhead upside the head.

Matt twitches and grunts as he jerks out of his slumber, glancing around blindly for his attacker. When he spots Mello, his face relaxes. He attempts to blink the remnants of sleep from his eyes. "S'matter, Mello?"

A smirk crawls its way onto the blond's face, and he gives Matt a rough but playful shove toward the far side of the sorry excuse for a bed. "Move over. I'm exhausted, and you're in my way."

"You're…not wearing anything." It doesn't sound like a complaint.

"This is my fucking house, freeloader."

"Some house."

Feigning deafness, Mello slips his naked frame between the sheets and settles in next to the object of his affections, sighing in content for the first time that day. Mello can't see very well in the dark, but he can sense Matt peeling off layers of clothing and tossing them aside. He toys with the idea of banishing the redhead to the couch – it is, as he said, his apartment – but he can't be bothered to try to pretend he doesn't want the comfort and warmth provided by his best and only friend.

There are no grunted words bidding one another goodnight. In turn, they roll over to lie back-to-back and fall silent, each attempting to even out their breathing and fool the other into thinking they're asleep. Time passes, and Mello's vision blurs from trying to keep his eyes open in the pitch black of the room, and yet he cannot seem to drift into a sleep, restless or otherwise, even long after Matt's soft, grunting snores permeate the silence.

Mello's hand drifts down the length of his body, perhaps of its own accord, and wraps itself around his flaccid penis. He hardly cares that Matt is next to him and likely to be awoken by any excessive jostling or heavy breathing, but his presence does make fantasizing about him a bit easier.

Tightening his grip, he slides his palm across the underside of his shaft and imagines that the hand touching him is not his own, but instead the slightly callused hand of a certain redheaded gamer. Mello bites his lip as his movements become quicker and more fluid, trying to swallow his frantic moans of need as he entertains thoughts of pleasuring and being pleasured by Matt. The thought of goggles askew atop a mussed mop of copper that slightly obscures the vision of lust-clouded emerald eyes is more than enough to aid the blond in reaching climax, and he spills into his hand with a groan, barely muffled by bitten and swollen lips.

Mello takes a few deep, ragged breaths as he sinks, spent, into the mattress. It is only then that he allows the few tears to escape, running in rivulets down his cheeks and winding a path down the mottled path the scar on his cheek creates. Fisting the dirty bed sheets, he thinks of what all he could have, if only he were willing to take a chance on Matt. As he calms himself, the beating of his heart settling back into its normal pulsations, it dawns on him that the ginger curled next to him is silent, and has been for a long while: the gentle snores and heavy breathing that signify Matt's slumber are no more.

Maybe, just maybe, if he's very fortunate and extremely quiet, Matt won't say a word about this. But no such luck falls upon the wicked, Mello knows, and he feels his muscles seize and his stomach drop as his companion whispers, "Mels, why're you crying?"

For a wild second, Mello considers coming clean. He thinks about holding and being held after hours of passionate sex, of being able to consider his house a home, and of being able to find some value in Matt's presence, other than seeing him simply as an excellent accomplice. After the temporary insanity passes, he collects himself; though taking risk is all part of his strategy in this cat and mouse game of catching Kira, laying everything he's worked so hard to achieve on the line for a chance at a relationship seems trivial, even foolish. Besides, Matt is not gay. Mello tells himself this each and every miserable day.

"Go back to sleep, Matt. It's nothing."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you to Josephine Falnor and Miharu is Haruka's Love Child for the lovely reviews! The feedback really is encouraging and makes me want to continue adding to this story. ^^ I also appreciate any constructive criticism, so feel free!_

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Ever since that night he refused to tell Matt the reason for his tears, the redhead disappears with more frequency and longer duration, so Mello can't really say he's surprised at the sight of Matt ushering yet another girl into their apartment, but it sure does make his blood boil.

Perfect gentleman that he pretends to be, Matt smiles in that beguiling way of his as he leads the half-drunk whore to the couch and urges her to sit next to Mello, who arches an eyebrow in his friend's direction.

"Mello here will keep you company until I get back," he assures her in a voice smooth as silk, giving Mello a sly wink. He doesn't introduce the girl by name; it would be a wonder if Matt even remembers it. "Gotta take a piss."

Mello grunts, "Charming," and gives the girl on the other side of the couch a long side-look; he knows he'll have to dispose of her by the end of the night, but it almost seems a shame. If not for her tight, cheap clothes and eyes that shine in painfully apparent desperation, he might find her pretty, with her soft chestnut curls and gently curved figure. After sneaking a glance or two at her, he realizes that she's gawking openly at the scarred side of his face, and indulges in a smirk. "Something wrong?"

"Oh!" she squeaks, flushing a deep shade of pink and pointedly averting her eyes, which are slightly glazed from the amount of alcohol she's consumed, no doubt under Matt's persuasion. "N-no, s'nothing." Her well-manicured fingers clutch at the strap of her purse. "Just…nervous, I guess. I've never done this before."

Eyes narrowing into slits, Mello all but growls, "Done what?" Surely she can't mean fucking around with guys she meets at bars; she strikes him as the type who goes out for the sole purpose of doing just that.

She looks a little fearful now, given Mello's reaction, but manages to slur, "Never had a threesome…I mean, not with two guys…thought it sounded a little weird, but Matt insisted…"

His hands clench into fists, fingernails sinking into his palm deep enough to draw blood, but Mello doesn't let the rage or shock register on his face. He didn't pay much attention when Matt walked through the door, but he figures the ginger must be pretty drunk to not only suggest this sort of thing, but also make an attempt to follow through. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he decides he'll simply kill the girl before this has a chance to escalate, and lets his hand drift down to the front of his pants where his gun is nestled snugly against his flesh.

Before he can take care of his friend's little toy, however, he hears the flushing of a toilet, followed by heavy footsteps. Matt enters the room with his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his jeans, fingers scratching lazily at his stomach. He blinks, a bit harder than necessary, at the sight of Mello and the girl sitting side by side on the couch; almost as if he's amazed she's still alive. Then, the blond notices something very interesting. Unlike that of his female companion, Matt's eyes aren't glazed over and unfocused: he's completely sober.

As far as Mello is concerned, this is more than Matt playing a prank on him, it is outright cruelty. Thoughts of immediately ridding their apartment of the girl vanish as suddenly as they arrived, and he begins furiously cranking out a plan of revenge that will prevent Matt from pulling this shit ever again.

"I heard about the little arrangement you made," Mello says casually to Matt, though the look in his eye is hard and cold, even challenging. Matt's face registers mild surprise, his brows raising slowly, obviously asking himself why Mello hasn't yet done what was expected of him.

"And you're up for it?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

A grin spreads across Matt's face, but it's an expression of apprehension. With an inviting gesture toward the girl (Mello can't tell if she doesn't realize she's being treated like an object now, or just doesn't care), he purrs, "Be my guest."

"Oh, no." Now it's Mello's turn to smirk. "This little treasure was your discovery. It only makes sense for you to enjoy yourself first."

Dark look flickering over his features, Matt clenches his jaw in determination, and with a resolute nod, he approaches the girl and grabs her by the shoulders before kissing her firmly on the mouth. His eyes remain locked onto Mello's, which smolder with icy blue jealousy and fury as the young woman, now drunk with lust as well as booze, moans shamelessly into the ginger's mouth.

What happens next is little more than a blur. Clothes are peeled off of bodies, both Matt's and the girl's, while Mello remains knelt behind her curvy frame, trying to avoid touching her. She sloppily spreads her legs, free of all inhibition, and Matt, whose fingers are fumbling hesitantly with a condom wrapper, shoots Mello a look that clearly says, "You can still stop this." All the blond does in return is direct his gaze pointedly to the girl's most private area.

Matt scowls and rolls the condom onto his penis, which he has to stroke occasionally to keep firm enough for entrance. Keeping his still-goggled eyes focused on Mello, he thrusts into the girl's heat in one awkward movement, earning a gasp from her pink-lipped mouth. The time for action is now, and Mello forces himself to trail his fingers teasingly across the dainty brunette's hips and stomach, eventually reaching her rather small breasts; the revulsion he feels makes him shudder, but as he watches Matt halfheartedly snap his hips into the girl's body, he knows that the payoff will be well worth it.

Another moan escapes as Mello skims his fingertips across the crook of the slut's neck, soon making his way up to stroke her hair. But as the former Mafioso presses the palms of his hands firmly against either side of her skull, she seems to sense through her drunkenness that something is amiss. She doesn't have time to protest. In a swift motion, Mello twists the girl's head sharply to the side, and the crisp crack of her neck breaking interrupts the sound of Matt's heavy breathing.

"You…Mello, you sick fuck!" Matt barks, scrambling to extract his now-flaccid length from the lifeless girl's body.

Mello drops the girl's head and watches it loll onto her shoulder, smiling darkly at his redheaded friend. "You're the one having sex with a corpse, and you call me the sick fuck? Your disgust is misplaced."

Quickly, Matt reaches out to fist Mello's silky blond strands and pull him closer, bringing them nose to nose. They're at each other's throats suddenly, each trying to overpower the other; it doesn't matter who throws which punch, or whose eyes tear up more when fists connect with jaws. All that matters is Mello ends up on his hands and knees on the floor before long, with Matt kneeling behind him, his fingers deftly untying the laces of those leather pants as if he's done it a hundred times before.

The preparation is messy and rushed. Matt rips off the condom he used with the girl and forces one, then two fingers past the ring of contracting muscle as Mello swears in pain and snaps for Matt to make it feel better.

And then Matt's inside him, and Mello lurches forward from the force of the thrusts. The redhead's cock feels hard and hot as it pounds into his prostate, eliciting cries and pants, and the breathless chant of, "fuck me, fuck me, fuck me" is only punctuated by the occasional gasp pleading for the other boy to move faster or with more force.

Hands clenched into fists and digging into the scratchy carpet fibers, Mello tosses his head to the side as Matt slams into him, inadvertently catching a glance of the recently murdered young woman, still sprawled limply across their couch. Her eyes are wide and unseeing, complementing the coppery blood spilled down her chin nicely, and he sharply turns his head away again and squeezes his eyes tightly shut. There's hardly any value in asking Matt to relocate now.

It doesn't take either of them much longer to find release; Matt spills into the blond's body as he jerks Mello to completion, the semen joining the blood on the carpet and letting sex and violence mingle.

Bruised knees shaking, Mello struggles to his feet and shoots a halfhearted glare at Matt, who pants on the floor while doing all he can to avoid Mello's eyes. It's hard to appear intimidating with semen trickling out of his abused entrance and down his leg, but the blond gives a valiant effort.

"Get this…this _shit_ taken care of," he hisses, gesturing carelessly toward the dead body of that unfortunate brunette. "It had better be gone by the time I get back."

And in response to Matt's pathetic mumble of, "Yeah, whatever," he turns sharply on his heel and storms from the room.


End file.
